


Equal To the Effort Made

by GiveALittleRespect



Category: Shameless (US), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Gallavich, M/M, Mpreg, Older Sibling Fiona Gallagher, Season 3 AU, Slight Fusion, Talk of adoption, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Drinking, eventual miscarriage, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiveALittleRespect/pseuds/GiveALittleRespect
Summary: Ian and Mickey are both knocked up (not by each other) and have different ways of dealing with their situations.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Part One

Mickey thinks it’s kind of hilarious that Ian Gallagher got knocked up and thrown out of ROTC. 

Ian, who follows all the rules and spends hours studying and running around the track like he’s training for the Olympics. Hell, he’s still running now, and Mickey’s watching him from the bleachers--not in a creepy way, it’s just a nice day outside and he had to get away from Mandy and Lip Gallagher’s constant fucking. The last thing they need is another unplanned pregnancy.

He can’t stop watching Gallagher as he ends his run and walks over to the bench where his water bottle and backpack are. Maybe it’s because he’s tall (and pretty ripped,) but Mickey can’t see a bump on him yet. Lucky son of a bitch. Mickey’s pretty sure he started showing the day after he found out about his own little bundle of crap, which is currently demanding he finish off a bag of Funyons while he sits here not ogling Gallagher’s pasty white torso. 

“Mickey?”

Fuck, he’s coming this way. Mickey crumples the chip bag and tosses it underneath the bleachers, littering be damned. 

“I didn’t know you ran track,” Ian jokes, resting a foot on the seat in front of Mickey while he re-hydrates. Mickey flips him off and licks onion dust off his hand.

“I had to get away from the sounds of your brother and my sister’s boning marathon,” he snarks back. “I hope they’ve got enough condoms, cause we don’t need another bastard in the house.”

Ian runs his towel over his neck, and Mickey does not let his gaze linger even for a second.

“Pretty sure Lip’s going to be extra careful,” he remarks. “At least he’s being better about this than Fiona. She won’t even look at me.”

“Hypocrite,” Mickey scoffs. “Could still happen to her.”

“That’s what I said,” Ian replies, sitting down and leaning back against the bench. “Debbie even backed me up. I mean, she wants me to keep it and let her be the babysitter, but she’s thirteen. She still thinks babies are cute and fun.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Mickey has no idea why he’s curious, but he can’t really picture Ian going to classes with a screaming brat strapped to his chest. 

“Been talking to my uncle Clayton,” Ian says, closing his eyes against the sun. “He’s a good guy, way better at parenting than Frank’s ever been. He’s getting me in touch with some adoptive parents. And if that doesn’t work out, he’s willing to take the kid himself. Then I can go back to ROTC.”

Mickey hums in surprise. “Sounds like you got it handled.”

“What about you?” Ian cranes his neck in Mickey’s direction, and Mickey pulls his winter coat closer around himself to hide his stomach. 

“No idea,” he says bluntly. “Foster care’s shit, but so’s living with my dad. The kid won’t thank me either way.”

“He’s back in prison, though, right? At least--”

“Gallagher, fuck off,” Mickey snaps, blaming both Ian’s nosiness and mood swings for his change of tone. “We’re not friends just because we both took it up the ass without rubbers.”

Ian turns away. “Fine. Sorry.” After about three seconds of blissful silence, he pipes up, “And I did use a rubber. Just not the good kind.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Live and fucking learn.” 

“Mickey…”

“What?” 

Ian’s looking at him again, and he points to his face. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Fuck,” Mickey groans, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. “Not again.”

Ian hands him his towel. “Here, use this.”

“Gross,” Mickey waves it away. “I don’t want your ball-sweat towel.”

“I don’t use it on my balls,” Ian laughs, like Mickey was joking. “Seriously, take it. You can give it back to me later.”

Mickey doesn’t have much choice because his sleeve isn’t doing a great job of stemming the tide, so he grabs the towel and bunches it up against his nose, pinching the bridge for good measure.

“Does this happen a lot?”

“Every damn day,” Mickey says around the towel. “You get nosebleeds?”

“Not yet. I’ve felt pretty good, actually. Didn’t even have morning sickness.”

Mickey flips him off again just for that.

Ian smiles, shaking his head like Mickey’s funny or something. He picks up his backpack and gives Mickey a thoughtful look.

“Hey, if you ever want to come over to my house and just...hang out for a while, you can. You know, to get away from the sex-capades.”

Really? Hang out at the Gallaghers, like they’re in fucking middle school? Mickey’s ready to tell him what a stupid idea that is, but when he considers what else he’s got going on--drinking watered down beer, playing video games, watching porn, or just jerking off--it might make a nice change of pace. 

“Whatever” is the response he settles on. Ian shrugs and takes off like he doesn’t have a care in the world, even though his life’s as fucked up as Mickey’s right now.

Fucking Gallaghers. 

***

Mickey doesn’t see Ian again until a week later at the store, and wow, has there been a change. Ian’s finally showing, but definitely not glowing. 

“You look like shit,” Mickey says by way of a greeting, tossing Ian the towel he lent him. He’d washed it himself, for reasons besides getting blood out of it (none of which had involved fantasies about fucking Ian on the track or under the bleachers.) Like a civilized person would do. 

Ian doesn’t quite catch the towel, and just glances at him from behind the counter.

“Thanks,” he says in a hollow voice. He folds up the towel and when a customer comes in, Mickey sees Ian shuffle behind the cash register. He twigs--he’s trying to hide his bump. Good luck with that, Mickey thinks. Ian’s thin enough that it’s pretty damn obvious, and he doesn’t look nearly as happy-go-lucky as he did that day on the track field.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Mickey asks after the customer’s left. “I mean it, you look terrible.”

“I heard you the first time,” Ian says in a low voice, counting the money in the register. “You gonna buy anything?”

Mickey tosses a Snickers bar onto the counter just for show, and digs out two dollar bills for good measure. 

“Fiona kicked me out,” Ian says flatly when he gives Mickey his change. “We got in a fight and she told me I had to go, that she wasn’t about to raise another baby.”

“No shit?” Mickey actually feels bad for him. His situation might not be any better, but at least he’s got a roof over his head. “What’d you fight about?”

“I turned down another set of prospective parents,” Ian mutters. “They were shitheads, but she thinks I should give the kid away to whoever’s asking. Like the fact that they have money and live far away from here makes them good enough.”

The hand that’s not counting bills drifts down to his stomach, and the way it lingers there, like it’s protecting something, makes Mickey feel weird.The best thing he can say about his own experience is that he’s hornier than he’s ever been in his life and that actually makes fucking girls easier. All he has to do is picture someone else, and he’s hard in seconds. Other than that, it’s just a lot of random aches, leg cramps, and wearing sweats all the time because none of his other clothes fit. 

Ian smiles suddenly, and Mickey blinks. 

“What?”

“Hm?” Ian looks up like he forgot he was there. “Oh, nothing. Baby moved.”

“And that made you smile?”

For his part, Ian just shrugs. “It’s cool. Weird, but cool. Does yours--”

“See ya,” Mickey says, grabbing his candy and leaving. One thing he is not about to do is start bonding with Ian Gallagher over their broken-condom spawn. 

***

According to Mandy, Ian’s moved in temporarily with Kev and Vee next door. 

“Why do you care?” she says, lighting a new cigarette. “You guys gonna take parenting classes together? Want him to be your Lamaze partner?”

Mickey flips her off. “What the fuck is Lamaze?”

She snorts. “Breathing exercises to help you do something besides scream when you’re pushing the thing out your vag. I think it’s bullshit.”

He winces. “I’m not pushing anything out. I’m getting a fucking C-section.”

“With what insurance?” Mandy taunts. “Those things costs up to twenty thousand dollars, and that’s just for the surgery. You got twenty grand?”

He doesn’t, but he shoves it out of his mind. What’s one more medical bill in the long run, anyway? He’s got no wages to garnish and anyone who wants to take their house can have it. He should have left this shithole months ago, but he had to go and fuck around with someone who didn’t know how to put a condom on the right way. 

He also has no idea what he’s going to do about the thing, which is getting bigger every day. At some point, he knows, he’ll have to decide whether to give it up or give it to someone directly. There aren’t any other options, cause he wouldn’t wish growing up in his house on his worst enemy. And he has a lot of those.

***

It’s Christmas Eve for fuck’s sake, and Mickey’s ringing the doorbell of Kev and Vee’s house, hoping Ian’s there so they can...hang out.

He blames hormones for making him act like such a Love Actually bitch. Good thing he would never, in a million years, do something as fucking gay as declare love for someone with posters. (And anyway, that Kiera Knightley chick was already married. Not cool.) 

Kev answers, all decked out in a hideous Christmas sweater and Santa hat. 

“Hey, Mickey!” he says cheerfully. “Merry Christmas, dude!”

“Is Ian here?”

“Next door,” Kev says, pointing unnecessarily. “I think he’s trying to talk to Fiona. She’s being kind of a hardass about the whole baby thing.” He glances at Mickey’s stomach.

“Speaking of which, how’s the littlest Milkovich?”

Mickey grabs the hand that’s headed right for him. “Touch me and I’ll break it off.” 

“Whoa, okay, sorry.” Kev takes a step back. 

“Merry Christmas,” Mickey says, just to smooth things over a little, and heads over to the Gallagher house.

***  
Ian’s in his room, asleep on his bed, and Mickey gets as far as the doorway before he realizes that he has no idea what he’s doing here. Fiona let him in, but she didn’t exactly seem full of holiday cheer, and he wonders if Ian’s back to stay or if it’s just a temporary cease-fire between them.

He wanders around, looking around at the posters and the Army stuff on the walls. Ian really has a hard-on for military life. Mickey can kind of see why--the guys in the ads are usually pretty hot, all chiseled and fit as fuck. More Ian’s thing than his, though. 

“Mickey?”

Aw, crap, he’s awake. And Mickey’s standing over him like a stalker in a bad horror movie. 

“Hey,” he says awkwardly. “Um...Fiona let me in. Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ian mumbles, still half-asleep. “Is Mandy here?”

“Think she’s planning on showing up later, once she gets out of work,” Mickey comments, sitting down in the desk chair across from Ian’s bed. “Better clear out of here before she and Lip--fuck!”

Ian snorts. “Mm, yeah.”

“No, the kid kicked me,” Mickey explains, rubbing the spot where his rib was targeted. “Shit, that hurts.”

Ian peers at him from underneath his arm. “Probably cause you’re sitting down. There’s less room for it to move.”

“Since when are you an expert?”

“Been reading some books,” Ian says, pushing himself up. “It helps to know that stuff.”

Mickey watches as he swings his legs off the bed, and his hand goes right to his stomach just like it did in the store.

“You do that a lot,” Mickey comments. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ian grins. “Can’t help it.”

“You like it?” Mickey asks, lowering his voice. “Being knocked up? Cause I don’t get why people do it.”

Ian shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t love it. But…” He trails off. “It’s like I’m not alone. I have somebody with me all the time, and I have to take care of them. It’s rough, especially with Fiona on my case about not letting me keep it, but...I want this kid to have a fighting chance.”

“Think it’s already got that,” Mickey says offhandedly. “That’s all you Gallaghers do.”

Ian’s face softens as he looks at Mickey, and it makes something swoop in Mickey’s stomach that he’s pretty sure isn’t the kid this time.

“Thanks,” Ian says, and Mickey immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything. 

“I’m hungry,” he says for lack of anything else to say, and leaves the room. 

***

Dinner is pretty lowkey--they have a big breakfast on Christmas morning, according to Ian--and everybody eats popcorn, drinks beer and watches movies for most of the evening. It’s noisier than at his house, but it’s nice, too, because everyone actually enjoys being together. Nobody bothers him, so he sits in the kitchen, enjoying a root beer (Fiona says they “ran out” of real beer, but he suspects she just hid it from him) and the relative peace and quiet. 

Just as he’s thinking he should go soon, Ian storms through the kitchen and stops only to grab his coat before going out the back door. Fiona’s right behind him, saying something about “responsibility,” and Mickey winces. Definitely time to go. 

He doesn’t know why, but he decides to leave the same way they did, and he gets to hear the tail end of a heated argument between Ian and Fiona in the small backyard. Ian’s turned away from her, shoulders hunched, and she’s inches from him, arms crossed and tone sharp.

“So think about that!” she says before whirling around and heading back toward the house. Mickey hustles down the stairs and gives her plenty of space, but hangs back when she goes inside. Ian’s still standing there, not moving.

“Hey, you okay?” Mickey asks, not even sure why. This is Ian’s family shit, not his. 

Ian glances around, jaw set, and nods once. It’s really convincing. 

“Well, I’m gonna go. Merry Christmas, Gallagher.” Mickey walks toward the fence, and seconds later, Ian’s following him.

“Wait, Mickey. Can I...can I spend the night at your house? Just for tonight. I can’t stay here.”

Mickey’s surprised, but not as much as if he hadn’t seen that little exchange a minute ago. 

“What about Kev and Vee?”

“They won’t care. They like to do a lot of kinky stuff on Christmas, and I’d rather just sleep somewhere without hearing anyone fighting or fucking.”

Mickey can relate all too well. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thanks. I just have to grab some stuff and I’ll be right back.”

As he jogs off to the Balls’ house, Mickey waits by the fence and hopes he hurries the fuck up, cause it’s not getting any warmer out here. He sees Mandy walking down the street towards him, and she smiles. 

“Lip still here?”

Mickey smirks at her. “All yours. Ian’s sleeping over at our place.”

“Oh, really?”

He hears the insinuating tone and sneers at her. “Fuck off. He just wants to get away from Fiona. Be extra loud for her, okay?”

“Always am,” Mandy says cheerfully before heading up the front steps. “Merry Christmas, dickwad.”

“Asshole,” Mickey replies with a wave. At least they’ve got each other.

***  
“I’ll take the couch,” Ian says the second they walk in the door, which spares Mickey the awkwardness of trying to figure out where the fuck Ian’s supposed to sleep. 

“Okay.” Mickey heads off to the bathroom while Ian settles in, but after brushing his teeth and taking a leak, Mickey feels kind of bad about just leaving him out there. Their heating isn’t great and it gets cold in the living room at night. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this, but he goes into Mandy’s room and pulls the duvet off her bed, grabbing one of her pillows while he’s there. What the hell, she’s not going to be home tonight.

He goes out to the living room and sees Ian’s already curled up on his side, eyes closed and one arm over his stomach, as usual. That weird swoopy feeling comes back, and Mickey clears his throat. 

“Here,” he says, tossing the blanket and pillow at Ian.

Ian puts the pillow behind his head and adjusts the blanket, giving Mickey a small smile in return. 

“Thanks. Good night.”

“Night, Gallagher.”

***

Christmas Day in the Milkovich home usually involves somebody getting drunk by breakfast, two shouting matches before lunchtime, a silent meal punctuated by Terry’s rants against everyone who wasn’t born in America, and then once he’s passed out, Mickey and his brothers go out looking for literally anything else to do while Mandy holes up in her room or visits whoever she’s fucking at the time. They haven’t even had a Christmas tree in years, not since his mom died. 

So hearing someone actually cooking first thing in the morning is pretty novel. It gets him out of bed in record time, and he stumbles into the kitchen to see Ian looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flipping pancakes on the stove.

“Merry Christmas!” he says when he sees Mickey. “I found a mix that was about to expire. There’s eggs, too.”

Well, it’s better than raiding the kitchen for scraps the way he usually does. “Great, thanks. But you didn’t have to do this.”

“No way, it’s Christmas! My gift to you. That couch is really comfortable, by the way, I slept great.” 

Clearly, the way he’s practically bouncing in place. Mickey’s not sure what’s got him in such a good mood, but he helps himself to breakfast and tries not to smirk when Ian starts playing Christmas music on his phone and singing along. 

“Ay, turn that shit off,” Mickey protests. Ian sings “Feliz Navidad” even louder just to annoy him.

“We should do something to celebrate,” he says when they’re finished with breakfast. “There’s movies playing. Or we could go to the skating rink, but I’d have to go get my skates.”

“I don’t skate,” Mickey answers. “And I’m not in the best shape for it right now.”

Ian laughs. “Oh, right, sorry. Okay, what about--”

“Ian, it’s fine,” Mickey interrupts. “I don’t really do anything for Christmas. We don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

Ian’s smile fades. “I just...I’ve always spent Christmas at home. I need to do something.”

Mickey gets it, except his problem has always been the opposite--finding something to do anywhere but this house. 

“Let’s take a walk,” he suggests, getting up from the table and ignoring the jab he gets from his little roommate. “I know a couple places we won’t run into your family.”

***

“It’s fucking cold up here.”

Mickey shrugs. “It’s fucking cold everywhere.” He pulls out the flask he stole from his dad’s room. “Want to warm up?”

“Not drinking,” Ian says, indicating his to-go cup of cocoa. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey takes a sip in defiance. “I’m not drinking every day anymore.”

Ian stretches his legs out on the dirty concrete floor, back against the wall. “So this is where you hang out? It’s cozy.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey snarks comfortably. Yeah, the building is basically condemned, but it means he can be alone and nobody can find him for a good few hours. It’s more privacy than he gets at home, and that’s good enough for him.

Ian’s zoning out, and Mickey takes the opportunity to glance at him for longer than a second. He looks good in this light, which is extremely gay to even think, but he doesn’t care. He’s wearing a blue hat that looks great on him, his cheeks are flushed and making his freckles stand out--

“You know what’s weird?”

Mickey immediately looks away. “What?”

Ian folds his hands--surprise--over his stomach. “This time next year, we’ll both have kids.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Nah. Mine’s gonna be in some foster home and yours is probably gonna get rich parents, if your sister gets her way.”

“She won’t,” Ian says with steel in his voice. “I’m keeping it. That’s why Fiona got so pissed at me last night, because I told her I didn’t want anyone else to raise my kid.”

Mickey almost chokes on his drink. “Fuck, Gallagher, are you serious? You’re seventeen! You should be training for the fucking Army, not raising some brat!”

Ian’s jaw is set. “I’ve heard it already, okay? Everyone thinks I’m crazy for wanting this, but I do.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you just give it your uncle?” Mickey honestly wants to know. “He’s your real dad, right?” There’s little Mickey doesn’t know about the Gallagher family thanks to very thin walls and Lip’s tendency to be chatty after boning Mandy.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ian says stubbornly. “I barely know him.”

Mickey scrubs a hand over his face. Fucking Gallaghers. “At least you’d know your kid was okay, not in some shitty house full of people who were starvin’ it or whatever.”

“Is that why you’re giving yours away?”

“Fuckin’ right it is!” Mickey says emphatically. “This kid’s got a better shot without me or my fucking family in its’ life. You think Terry will even fucking care if this is the only grandkid he gets? He started hitting me when I was two. He won’t stop just cause there’s a baby in the house.”

Ian looks over at him. “Then that’s the right thing for you to do.”

“Thanks.” Like he needs anyone’s approval. 

“And raising my kid is the right thing for me to do. You’re not gonna talk me out of it.”

“I’m not trying to,” Mickey says, exasperated. “I’m just sayin’, it seems like a shitty idea. But that’s what you’re good at, so…”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Fucking your boss,” Mickey says, ticking off on his fingers exaggeratedly. “Not using condoms. Getting knocked up before you’re outta high school. Now you’ve decided fuck the Army, you’re gonna be a stay-at-home mom? You’re just full of shitty ideas.”

“Jesus!” Ian stands up so fast he stumbles and has to catch himself against the wall. “You sound just like Fiona! And Lip, for that matter. Hell, even Frank thinks I should give the kid up.”

Mickey never thought he’d be in agreement with Frank Gallagher, but there’s a first time for everything. 

“I know they all think I fucked up,” Ian continues. “And yeah, I wasn’t planning on having kids for a long time. But I love my baby. I want the best for them, and I want to be the one who looks after them. Not Fiona, not Frank or Clayton, me. I don’t think I could possibly fuck a kid up worse than my parents did with us.”

“What about getting out of the Southside?” Mickey fires back, standing up to face him. “You think you can do that with a milk-sucker on your hip? What are you gonna do, take it to ROTC with you? West Point? Forget it.”

Ian grabs the front of Mickey’s shirt so fast it actually catches him off-guard. 

“You don’t get to tell me I’m going to be Southside trash forever. What’d you do, wait too long to get an abortion?” 

Mickey’s fist is raised before he’s able to stop himself, but he hesitates. Ian deserves to get punched for that. But he’s also pregnant, and Mickey knows he’s not a girl, but...kind of the same rule applies, right? 

Ian sees his fist, but doesn’t move away. The fucker’s still looking him in the eye like he’s daring him to do it, and…

...fuck, he’s hot. 

Mickey lowers his fist, jerks out of Ian’s grip and grabs the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss. 

Ian makes a startled sound against his mouth, but the next second his tongue is in Mickey’s mouth and fucking hell, is he good at this. Mickey shrugs off his coat, fingers fumbling with Ian’s belt, and within seconds, the cold is the last thing on either of their minds. 

Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.

***

“So…” Ian says about fifteen minutes later, when they’re getting dressed. “Was that--”

“A one-time thing,” Mickey grunts, pulling his shirt over his head. “Don’t fucking tell anyone.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Ian says lightly, clearly in a better mood. He hands Mickey his scarf. 

“You want to grab some lunch? I’m hungry.”

“I’m gonna head home,” Mickey says, shrugging on his coat. “You should probably get food without me.”

“Mickey, wait,” Ian says just as Mickey’s headed for the stairs. “Can I...I can still stay at your place tonight, right? This isn’t--”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey says with an impatient wave over his shoulder. “Just until you make up with your bitchy sister.” 

**TBC**


	2. Part Two

He just fucked Ian Gallagher. 

No, actually, he just got fucked by Ian Gallagher. And holy shit, the rumors were true-- the kid’s packing. Mickey’s got enough masturbation material to last him weeks. 

It was good, and safe--at least he had a few condoms in his pocket. Not even the weirdness of them both being pregnant was enough to make them stop. And there was a moment when they were coming down, and their stomachs were sort of pressed against each other, and Mickey had laughed because his kid fucking kicked Ian, and Ian laughed because he must have felt it. 

It was stupid and insane and...nice. 

It’s also never going to happen again, because after the glow wears off, Mickey still thinks Ian’s nuts for thinking he can be a single teen parent and somehow achieve his Army dreams. Like, what kind of world does he think they live in? 

At least Mickey’s being realistic. His kid’s getting a better life without him in it, and that’s how he wants it to be. 

He just wishes he could ignore it for the next few months, but the little shit is getting a lot harder to ignore. He’s even caught himself waking up with his hand on his stomach, like Ian, and he doesn’t understand why. It’s a fucking parasite, an unwanted houseguest, a squatter. It does nothing but make Mickey’s clothes too tight and shout to the world that Mickey Milkovich is a fucking gay bottom. He can’t wait for this shitshow to be over, so everything can get back to normal.

And then…maybe....he can see if Ian wants to go for another round. Cause damn.

***

Ian gets back a few hours later, while Mickey’s watching Die Hard on one of the many stolen cable channels Iggy managed to get for them. 

“Hey,” Ian says, walking in with a takeout box. “Got you some food, in case you were hungry.”

“Had some leftover eggs,” Mickey says, not even looking at him just to be safe. “You see your family?”

“I talked to Lip,” Ian replies, coming over to sit on the couch next to Mickey. “He said Fiona’s willing to let me back in the house if I agree to see just one more couple about the baby.”

“And?”

“I told him to tell her to fuck off.”

Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ian…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go back to Vee’s tomorrow,” Ian says resignedly. “And I’ll see the next couple, just to get Fiona off my back. But I’m not going to change my mind.”

Mickey looks at him, and this time when he sees Ian’s arms firmly folded over his bump, he feels...annoyed, yes, but kind of impressed. Ian’s stubborn as fuck like his whole family, but he knows what he wants and he doesn’t let anyone push him around.

Mickey kind of wishes he was more like that.

***  
Mickey falls asleep towards the end of the movie, and when he wakes up, Ian’s not there. He glances around and turns off the TV, then heads for his room.

Unbelievably, Ian’s already there, conked out on his bed.

“Christ, Gallagher,” Mickey groans, approaching with the intent to drag his six-foot ass off the mattress and dump him on the floor. But Ian’s clearly comfortable, and that makes Mickey reluctant to move him. 

What the hell--the bed’s big enough for two. He’ll just stay on his side.

He changes into the only t-shirt that still fits and crawls into bed, turning to face the door. Ian mumbles something, and Mickey whispers “Shut up.” Jesus, the kid even talks in his sleep. It’s going to be nice not to have him around starting tomorrow.

***

It’s about three in the morning when Mickey wakes up, not even sure why. He glances over to see that once again, Ian’s not where he was. 

Mickey sighs and decides to grab the covers back while he has the chance. 

He tugs the blanket towards him...and sees blood on the side of the mattress where Ian was sleeping. 

“Ian?” Mickey calls out sharply, wide awake in a second. He gets out of bed as fast as he can and is halfway into the hall when he hears it--a strangled sob from the bathroom. 

“Ian, hey, open up,” Mickey says, pounding on the closed door. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t hear anything for a second, and then Ian’s voice is barely audible. “...Fiona.”

“What?”

“Call Fiona!”

Mickey backs away from the door quickly. He’s never heard Ian sound so scared, and it freaks him the fuck out. But he has very clear instructions to get Fiona over here, and that’s what he’s going to do as soon as he can find Ian’s phone.

***

Fiona gets over to the house in record time, and Vee’s with her because as soon as Mickey said the word “blood” she must have known they’d need someone with actual medical training. 

He hangs back as she knocks on the door and urges Ian to let her in. He does, and Mickey peers in to see that he’s sitting on the toilet, doubled over like he’s taking a shit but with blood on his boxers and tears streaming down his face. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Fiona says, crouching down to hug him. “It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Vee looks in and draws a sharp breath, and Mickey can’t take the suspense any longer.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and she looks at him like it should be obvious.

“He’s probably having a miscarriage,” she says, low enough that Fiona and Ian can’t hear. “Hope you’re not attached to your towels, cause we’re gonna need them.”

Mickey steps back to let her in the bathroom. She closes the door in his face, which is fine with him because he’s seen enough. 

He’s not sure if he should go back to bed, because there’s no way he’s going to sleep after this. First he changes the sheets, then lies back down on his regular side and tries not to listen when he hears Ian’s sobs get louder. He can hear Fiona and V talking in very low, gentle tones, which somehow makes it worse. 

It isn’t until at least seven in the morning--during which time he nodded off for about an hour, maybe--that Fiona knocks on his door.

“Mickey? We’re taking Ian home.”

Mickey sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Is he okay?”

One look at her face tells him everything. “He lost the baby.”

Fuck. Mickey knew it. 

“Does he have any stuff in here?”

Mickey grabs Ian’s phone off his nightstand and hands it to her.

“Thanks for letting him stay.”

Mickey shrugs.

“What happened?” he asks out of sheer morbid curiosity. “He was fine last night. Didn’t even say anything.”

She sighs. “It just happened.” 

Well, that’s just fucking awesome. 

Mickey follows Fiona out to the living room, where Ian’s waiting in his sweats. V’s got his backpack and he’s standing totally still, gazing down at the floor like he’s mesmerized by it. Mickey’s throat closes up when he notices that he’s still holding his stomach, even now. God, he really wanted that kid.

“Ian?” 

Ian’s eyes slowly drift towards Mickey, but it’s like he doesn’t actually see him.

Mickey tries to say something, but all he can do is nod. Ian lets Fiona put her arm around him and lead him out the front door.

***

Mickey can’t stop thinking about Ian all fucking day. 

He cleans the bathroom, even though he’s pretty sure either Vee or Fiona already did before they left. He takes the sheets to the local laundromat and washes them twice, until there’s no trace of blood. He sits outside as long as he can stand the cold, and just thinks. 

Should’ve been me. 

He wants to hide from that thought, but it finds him anyway. It should’ve been Mickey who lost a pregnancy, not Ian. Mickey’s the one who hasn’t been taking care of himself, who’s been seeing this whole thing as a prison sentence he has to carry out. He’s the one with a fucked-up family he can’t count on to keep a kid alive. Ian was luckier than him in almost every respect--is luckier than him. He might actually have pulled it off, if nature or whatever hadn’t intervened. 

Mickey shakes his head. What’s he thinking, Ian’s better off not having to deal with teen fatherhood right now. He can go back to school, back to ROTC, and have the life he always wanted. As soon as he realizes that, he’ll be fine. 

But somehow Mickey’s not jealous. He keeps remembering Ian’s face in the bathroom and how he looked right before he left. He’s hurting in a way that Mickey can’t relate to, and...maybe that’s not a good thing. 

It’s too cold to stay outside, so he shuts himself in his room, one hand tracing his stomach idly. He stops, looking down at it for longer than the second he usually does between getting dressed and undressed. 

“You like me or something?” he says out loud. “Why haven’t you tried to get the fuck out of there? I’m not gonna be a good dad.”

The little shit punches his side, which surprises him. Can it hear him already? They can’t do that yet, right? Not until…

He blinks. He doesn’t even know how far along he is. He’s been going from week to week in complete fucking ignorance. 

It just happened.

No. No, fuck that, he’s not letting that happen to him, too. Get your shit together, Milkovich.

Right. First things first, he needs to find out how much time he’s got until he has the damn thing. Then he’ll go from there. 

***

The doctor at the free clinic gives him a look he doesn’t like when he says this is his first appointment, but she does an ultrasound and puts him at twenty-four weeks, with sixteen more to go. That’s less time than he thought he had, but he’s glad to know for sure. 

“Baby looks healthy, but a little small,” she reports. “You should definitely start eating better and taking vitamins. Better late than never.”

He takes that into account, and decides to stop drinking altogether while he’s at it. 

“Do you want to know the sex?”

He’s still sure he wants to give this kid up, and knowing something like that might not help. 

“No.”

She nods, and finishes the exam. Mickey leaves with a bunch of pamphlets and a bottle of vitamins, and strict instructions not to so much as look at a cigarette or “alcoholic beverage” from this point on. 

The next stop is the nearest thrift store, and the hardest part of that trip is ignoring the fucking hipsters looking for “vintage” shit. He picks out anything that’s roomy and dark, not even caring how it looks.

Mandy calls to tell him Ian won’t talk to anyone, not even her. 

“He’s just lying in bed,” she says, sounding worried. “What the fuck happened last night?”

Mickey relates the story as best he can. 

“Oh, my God,” Mandy breathes. “Is he going to be okay?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Mickey says, without much heat. “He wanted that kid. Wouldn’t stop fighting with his fucking sister about it.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna stay tonight in case he wants to talk. Do we have any food at home?”

“I’m on it,” Mickey says, approaching the grocery store. 

“Do you have any money?”

“I sold some shit earlier, I got it.”

“Fine. See you later.”

***

A few more weeks go by, and Mickey takes to walking by the high school more often just to see if Ian’s back to doing his runs. He doesn’t see him, and he relies mostly on Mandy for updates. 

“He’s back at school, but he won’t talk about it,” she mentions once. “He’s trying to get back into ROTC, too.”

Mickey nods, pretending he doesn’t care that much. And he doesn’t, because he’s got other shit on his mind these days, like finding a permanent home for his kid. He’s met with a few people who are willing to take it, but something about the desperate look in their eyes doesn’t sit well with him. Call it pride, but he doesn’t want to hand the baby over to just anyone. 

The problem is, he’s not even sure what kind of candidate he’s holding out for. 

It’s early March by the time Mickey sees Ian again, and it’s by accident.

He’s walking home from another interview with a couple from Kansas who have three grown kids already, and say they feel “ready” to take on raising a baby, and the money they’re offering is good. He might actually consider their offer to pay his hospital bills and then, who knows?

He’s going past the baseball field when he hears Ian’s voice.

“Mickey?” 

Mickey stops and sees Ian just a few feet ahead of him, wearing his running gear. 

“Hey,” Mickey says automatically, eyes skimming down Ian’s body. He’s back to his old self, looks like. “You running again?”

Ian nods, squinting against the late afternoon sun. “Yeah, never stopped. I’m back in ROTC, need to stay in shape.”

“Hey, congrats,” Mickey says, hoping it doesn’t come out sarcastic. “Wish I could get a start on losing the baby weight.” Fuck, he said “losing the baby” right in front of Ian. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Ian either doesn’t get it or pretends not to, which is more than Mickey feels he deserves. 

“How’s that going?” Ian says instead, glancing at Mickey’s belly. 

“Okay,” Mickey says casually. “Think I might’ve found some decent people to take the kid. We’ll see.” 

“Must be getting close,” Ian remarks. “When are you due?”

“April second,” Mickey says, feeling weirdly proud, like he picked the date himself. 

“It better not come a day early or no one will believe you,” Ian says with a smile, and Mickey snorts when he gets the joke.

“Hey, um,” Ian says, shifting his weight slightly. “Thanks for...what you did on Christmas.”

“Which part?”

“When you got Fiona and Vee to come over. I’m glad they were there with me.”

Mickey’s heart lurches a little, and he nods. “Yeah. No problem. Not like I would’ve been much help.”

“You did help,” Ian says quietly. “Really.”

Mickey isn’t sure if it’s his hormones making him their bitch, but he decides to say what he’s wanted to say to Ian ever since that day.

“Look...I’m sorry about what happened.”

Ian doesn’t respond right away, and one look at his face almost makes Mickey regret what he said.

“Yeah,” he says finally, so low that Mickey almost doesn’t catch it. “Thanks.”

Mickey looks right into his eyes and Ian’s click with his and the next thing Mickey knows, they’re fucking making out right there, backs slamming against the chain link fence behind them, and Mickey is surprised but entirely happy with where this is going--

\--and then his little roommate decides to start kicking hard enough that he knows Ian can feel it, because he pulls away. 

“Whoa,” Ian breathes, and Mickey would appreciate the sentiment more if it were not directed at his parasitic cockblocker. 

“Yeah, ignore it,” he insists, tugging a little on Ian’s hair. “It does that a lot.”

Ian does not ignore it. Instead, he seems fascinated. 

“Feels strong,” he murmurs, and Mickey cannot fucking believe he’d rather get a good belly-grope in than pick up where they left off. 

“It gets old fast,” he grumbles, trying to bring Ian’s mouth back down to his. 

“Means it’s healthy,” Ian says, his lips barely brushing against Mickey’s, in direct contrast to how they were practically fused just a few seconds ago. 

“Terrific,” Mickey replies. If he can’t distract Ian with his mouth, hands will have to do. He snakes one down Ian’s pants, and Ian makes a noise he likes--until he feels moisture on his neck and realizes that it’s not a happy noise.

“What the fuck?” He takes his hand away and leans back to get a look at Ian’s face. “You crying?” 

He is. He turns away and rubs a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “I just...I can’t…” He slumps against the fence next to Mickey. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Her? You going straight now?”

“No, her.” Ian presses his hand to his stomach. “I thought it was a girl. I was having dreams about her. I…” He looks everywhere but at Mickey. “I wanted to name her Monica, after my mom.”

“Shit, really?” From what Mickey’s heard, Monica Gallagher was no role model.

“Yeah, nobody would’ve understood,” Ian says with a weak chuckle. “But she did. She told me to keep it.”

“When?”

Ian takes a shuddering breath. “When I told her, months ago. Fiona was ready to kill me, Lip kept trying to get me to go to the clinic, and I just...I called Monica because I wanted to tell her and see what she said. She called me back a few days later, said she couldn’t wait to see her grandkid. She was probably fucking high, but I was glad to hear her say it.”

“So you were gonna have it based on what your druggie mom told you?”

“Fuck off.” Ian closes his eyes. “I have dreams that I’m still pregnant and feeling her move, and…” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, I’m going crazy.”

Well, there’s not a lot Mickey can say to that. But he doesn’t think Ian is crazy. Not because of this.

“Want me to walk you home?”

Ian looks at him. “Cause you don’t trust me to get there on my own?”

“No, dumbass. Because I don’t know what the fuck else to do.”

Ian sighs. “Okay.”

***  
As if the little shit was listening when he had his conversation with Ian, Mickey does in fact have the baby on April first. 

And the bitch of it all is that there isn’t time for a C-section, it all happens so fast. By the time he and Mandy are actually inside the hospital, the first nurse to examine him calls a doctor in for delivery. Mickey barely remembers anything between being in the worst pain of his life and then having it be over, and Mandy’s urging him to look at the baby, but he can’t even wrap his head around what’s just happened. It feels like he’s hallucinating it all.

“Do you want to hold her, Mickey?”

Her. It’s a girl. Mickey stares at the squirming thing in the nurse’s arms, but he can’t make his arms move.

“I’ll take her,” Mandy volunteers, and she cuddles the baby while Mickey shuts his eyes and lets himself drift off. 

***

This can’t be his kid. Maybe the nurse brought back the wrong one.

His baby can’t be this perfect. Milkovich babies aren’t even cute right out of the gate. Mickey got his nickname because he was freakishly tiny and his mom was a fan of Disney, for Chrissake. Mandy was totally bald until she was seven months old. Iggy was the ugliest of them all. So he doesn’t understand how this kid managed to avoid that particular genetic curse.

She has lots of black hair and big blue eyes, and she looks so much like Mandy that it’s uncanny. Except her nose--that’s their mom’s. Weird to see the combination on a brand new person like this. 

He can’t stop looking at her, noticing something new every time. Like how she already has eyelashes, and very faint eyebrows. How perfect every fingernail is, and how good she smells. He loses track of time just watching her. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to hand her over to her new family and forget this whole thing. She was supposed to be some blob in a blanket, but she’s not. 

It would be the perfect time for him to magically come up with a name, but he’s drawing a blank. He never even considered names. He figured the Singers would take care of that. 

They still can. She can’t go home with him. Not with Terry about to come back into their lives.

“Hey,” he says, wondering if all the shit he read online about babies remembering their parents’ voices is true. “Hi. It’s me.”

She looks up, making eye contact like she recognizes him. His chest feels like it’s about to explode.

“It’s...Mickey,” he says, not liking the idea of being called “Daddy,”, so his name will have to do. “And who are you?”

She doesn’t reply, obviously, but she yawns and nestles closer to him, which makes him want to start sobbing because fuck, now he doesn’t want to let her go. 

“Mick?”

Mandy walks in, perches on the bed and puts her arm around his shoulders. 

“She’s so pretty,” she coos, tracing the baby’s chin with her finger. “You sure you don’t want to keep her?”

Mickey feels like crying, laughing and swearing at the same time. “I can’t. She’s not safe with Dad around.”

“The Singers are on their way,” she says after a minute. “I can stay while you give her to them.”

“Nah, I’ll do it. Not fucking helpless,” Mickey protests. 

“Of course you’re not, dumbass,” Mandy says, tousling his hair. “I just watched you push out a baby without pain meds. You’re the opposite of helpless.”

“When are they gonna be here?”

“Tonight. I’ll hang around till then.”

“No, you can go home,” Mickey says, distracted by the way the baby--his daughter--is staring at her own fingers, like she’s just as fascinated as he is. 

“Should I tell Ian to stop by with flowers?”

“What? Fuck off,” Mickey snarks. “Don’t think he wants to be around a baby right now.”

Mandy gets off the bed. “Why, because of what happened? He can take it, Mickey. He’s tougher than you think.”

Mickey shrugs. The way he feels right now, nothing outside this room really seems to matter. 

“You got a name for her yet?” Mandy asks. “She looks like a--”

“Ay, let me name my kid,” Mickey objects. The truth is, a name did come to mind just now, but he has to run it by someone first. And that person’s not his sister. 

***

“Oh my God,” Ian breathes when he gets a look at the baby. “Mickey, she’s beautiful.”

Mickey’s relieved to hear him say it. He had Mandy text Ian the news, and while he didn’t come with flowers, he did show up looking excited, which was better than the last time Mickey saw him.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Ian murmurs, letting her grip his finger. “You’re so tiny! What’s your name?”

“I, uh, wanted to run that by you first,” Mickey says. “I was thinking...Monica.”

Ian’s smile vanishes, and Mickey immediately holds up a hand.

“Forget it, I’ll think of something else. I’m not tryin’ to steal your mom’s name or anything--”

“Mickey, it’s okay,” Ian interrupts. “I was just surprised. I...I didn’t know you liked that name for your own kid.”

Mickey shrugs. “Our mom liked ‘M’ names. And I don’t think anybody will give me shit for naming her that, like they would in your family.”

“So, you’re keeping her?”

Mickey looks everywhere but at Ian. “I can’t, man. Terry’s getting out in a week and he can’t know about her. I have to…” He’s lost for words, but looking at Monica in her bassinet makes one thing crystal fucking clear.

“I have to keep her safe.”

***  
Ellen and Bobby Singer take pretty much everything in stride, even the fact that Mickey named the baby without them. 

“She looks like a Monica,” Ellen says, rocking the baby. “It’s a nice name.”

“We can keep you updated about her,” Bobby says, looking at Mickey with concern. “Pictures, emails, that kind of thing--”

Mickey shakes his head firmly. “No. My dad can’t know she exists. It’s for her own good.”

Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder, and Mickey automatically flinches away. 

“You ever need anything, you call us,” Bobby says, and Mickey can’t believe how sincere he sounds. He barely knows this guy. They live three states away and he’ll never see Monica again and she won’t even know who he is, but her new dad is talking to Mickey like he owes him something.

“That’s okay,” Mickey says with a tight smile. “You get a kid and I get to pretend none of this shit ever happened.”

“The hell you do,” Bobby says sternly. “Family don’t end in blood, boy.”

Ellen laughs. “Oh, now you’ve done it. Next he’ll be wanting to adopt you, too.” She puts a hand on Bobby’s arm. “Bobby, leave the poor kid alone. He’s in a bad spot, but something tells me he’s gonna be fine.” 

“Not the way he talks about this dad of his,” Bobby growls. “Sounds like a real sonofabitch.”

Mickey would normally get defensive, but he’s too tired. “Yeah, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Seriously, Mickey,” Bobby goes on. “If you ever find yourself in any trouble, you call us. We know how to help people out of bad situations.”

Ellen throws him a look that Mickey can’t decipher, and he backs off slightly. 

“Do you want to say goodbye?” Ellen says, holding Monica out to him. His mouth goes dry and he’s never felt more torn. If he holds her, he might change his mind. But if this is the last time he’ll ever see her, maybe it’s worth the risk.

He compromises and lets the baby grip onto his finger one last time. 

“This is your mom and dad,” he tells her. “They’re gonna take care of you.” He glances up at the Singers.

“She’s gonna be a piece of work,” he says almost apologetically. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ellen smiles, and Bobby nods.

“We’ve had plenty of experience raising troublemakers,” Bobby says, giving Ellen a glance. “They turned out fine.”

All too soon, they have to go, and Mickey can’t understand why it hurts so much to see them leave with Monica snuggled in the carrier they brought with them. 

She’s safe. She’s okay. She has parents who already love her---

\--and Mickey’s alone. 

***  
He goes home the next day, and who should be waiting for him at the front desk but Ian and Mandy. 

“Hey, isn’t it a school day?” he jokes as they walk out. “You two skipping just for me?”

Mandy slings an arm around his shoulders. “We’re taking you out to breakfast.”

Ian gives him a warm smile, and Mickey rolls his eyes at him.

“You’re paying, Gallagher.”

Ian laughs, but on the way to the nearest greasy-spoon, he glances at Mickey. 

“You okay?”

Mickey wants to say yeah, of course, nothing to not be okay about. But Mandy’s walking ahead, chatting on her phone to someone, and if anyone in the fucking world is going to understand what he’s feeling right now, it’s Ian Gallagher.

“I want her to have a good life,” he says. “She deserves that, and…” He blinks. The sun’s making his eyes water. 

“She’ll get it,” Ian says, touching Mickey’s arm. Mickey pulls back sharply. It was one thing when they were alone in a hospital room, but they’re out in fucking public now. 

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. Probably losing his voice from all the screaming he did while he was in labor. One thing’s for sure, he’s never doing that shit again. 

He looks Ian full in the face. "We can't talk about this, understand?"

Ian looks like he understands, but he doesn't want to. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it."

"Good." Then for reasons he'll never understand, he pulls Ian behind the side of a building and kisses him. It's quick and dry and Ian barely has time to kiss back, but it makes Mickey feel better than he's felt in days.

He steps back and runs after Mandy, flipping Ian off as he goes. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like a slightly ambiguous ending! 
> 
> For everyone about to give me grief over Ian--That was always the plan. Teen parenthood would never have worked out for him. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> I brought in Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle (my headcanon here is that they got married after John Winchester died and raised Sam, Dean and Jo in a blended family) to help Mickey out because they're awesome, and I wish Bobby could meet Terry Milkovich and...just talk. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Feels good to be posting fics again!
> 
> There will be a second part, it's a long story that I wanted to divide into two parts just to make it easier to read.


End file.
